


monday morning

by Mildredo



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5815087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildredo/pseuds/Mildredo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosa hates Monday mornings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	monday morning

Monday mornings are the worst part of Rosa's week. There's a fresh stack of case files on her desk, not one of them even remotely interesting and all of them promising to take approximately eight seconds each to solve. The coffee is weak and tasteless because they ran out of the good stuff on Thursday afternoon and Boyle took a long weekend so they're stuck with the stale grounds that have been sitting in the kitchen for at least as long as Rosa has been a detective until he gets back. Her inbox is full of garbage and she's already cleaned an improbable amount of Lohank's facial hair from between her keys.

Monday mornings make her wish for a mass murder in the precinct so she'd have something interesting to investigate.

She can hear Scully and Hitchcock talking about their weekends. She's almost bored enough to eavesdrop, but the words “blister” and “yellow” are enough to stop her. Across the office, Gina is working. Unusual. She's typing and stacking papers and only briefly glancing at her phone. Maybe she's sick. Or she's been replaced by a cyborg. Finally something worth looking into.

Gina looks up from her work long enough to notice Rosa looking at her and her mouth curves into a tiny smile. Gina gives a little wave and Rosa feels sick. She's making it too obvious. No one can know.

Gina picks up a pile of papers and stands up, checking her phone one last time before leaving it at her desk. She walks to Rosa's desk and puts the papers in front of her, atop her keyboard. Close up, Gina smells like apricots and Rosa hates that she knows that. She hates that apricots make her cheeks burn.

“Babylon,” Gina whispers. “Ten minutes.” She walks away, out of the bullpen, and Rosa has to take a second before she looks down at the papers Gina left. They're blank, except for the top sheet which has a tiny, crude pencil drawing of a heart-eyes emoji. Rosa slides the papers into her drawer and waits the requisite ten minutes, drinking down the last of her terrible coffee and picking at a speck of dirt on her screen.

When she enters the bathroom, she locks the door behind her before acknowledging Gina. She's sitting atop the closed toilet lid, cross-legged and almost demure, but she stands to meet Rosa almost instantly and takes her hands, impossibly soft fingers latching onto her own. The candles are vanilla today, Gina's favorite, and the lighting is soft and warm. Gina steps forward, closing the space between them, and kisses Rosa. Light, at first, but soon deeper and more earnest.

Perhaps Monday mornings are good for something after all.


End file.
